


A Shot of Jehanparnasse

by Sunfreckle



Series: Modern Means Less Miserable [8]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, No Angst In This House, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-01-17 07:32:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 10,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12360705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunfreckle/pseuds/Sunfreckle
Summary: A collection of Jehanparnasse centered one-shot ficlets first uploaded to my tumblr. They all fit into my "Modern Means Less Miserable" modern au, but that can be read on their own.These are not being written in narrative chronological order, but will be ordered that way here.





	1. Stay On Track

**Author's Note:**

> [Takes place after 16 Lies and Counting.]

Jehan likes travelling by train. It has something romantic and seeing the scenery fly by is both calming and exciting. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that they don’t take the train often. Or where they are going when they  _do_  take the train. Taking the train usually means going home to see their mothers. That’s where they are going today. But this time is different, because Montparnasse is here and for once Jehan wishes the journey would go by faster. They can hardly wait to introduce their boyfriend in person. Skype really isn’t the same.

Happily they glance beside them, where Montparnasse is reading a magazine. Their fall coats and bags mean they are squashed together in the seat a little, but neither of them cares. Montparnasse glances up and smiles at them before turning back to what looks like an article on use of lace in men’s fashion. Jehan sighs happily and looks out of the window for a while before taking up their pen again. It’s a pity there was only room in the no-talking section of the train, but they’ve been working on a poem they wanted to rewrite and it’s coming along pretty nicely.

Just as Jehan puts their pen back to the paper, Montparnasse adjusts his position. He’s sitting even closer than he was now. Jehan glances at him. His eyes are still fixed on the glossy page, but Jehan can tell his attention has shifted. Apparently lace isn’t quite interesting enough. The small smile in the corner of Montparnasse’s mouth is making them a little suspicious…

Jehan has to press their lips together hard to prevent themself from yelping when Montparnasse’s hand slides under their coat and jumper and up their bare back. His fingers are  _cold_. The hitch in their breath makes Montparnasse grin at his magazine. The lady sitting opposite them looks up from her tablet, but only for a moment. Jehan sits very still and Montparnasse doesn’t move either, his hand is resting casually on their back and because of the way their coats are draped across their shoulders nobody can see what he’s doing.

Montparnasse pretends to read on and Jehan carefully turns their notebook over to a fresh page. They ignore the burning of their cheeks, rest the notebook on their knee right next to Montparnasse and write:

“Behave.”

There is no indication Montparnasse has seen it, except a slight twitch of his mouth. He has definitely seen it though, because not a moment later two of his fingers start tracing Jehan’s spine.

Jehan bites their lip, keeping their head down to prevent accidental eye contact with the bored looking businessman diagonally across from them. They pointedly underline the word.

This time Montparnasse smiles and his index finger traces a round shape on their skin. Jehan can’t tell what it’s supposed to be and because they don’t react Montparnasse does it again. And again, until Jehan’s face changes in recognition. With a barely repressed mile on their lips they draw a heart on the notepad as well.

Montparnasse flashes them a quick grin and begins to retract his hand.

Under the pretence of straightening up to look out of the window Jehan quickly leans back to trap his arm against the back of the seat. They hear Montparnasse exhale with a snort and his hand slides back to its former position. His fingers have warmed up by now and on second thought Jehan quite likes his hand there. With a smile they turn back to their poem and Montparnasse turns to the next article with a smirk around his mouth. They have a pretty long train ride ahead of them and who knows, with a bit of luck those two sour-faced passengers across from them will get off at a nearby stop…


	2. Jehan & all the little Thénardiers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Petalprouvaire's tumblr blog.

Grumbling slightly Montparnasse paces back up the stairs to his own apartment. The landlady had called him down because she needed to speak to Babet and he wasn’t answering the door. Since she knew he was home that worried her. Of course there wasn’t anything wrong. Babet just slept like the dead.

“Okay,” Montparnasse says irritably, stepping into his living room. “I’m back. Nothing-”

“Shhhh!” Éponine hisses and he walks into her outstretched arm. She’s standing by the door, but she doesn’t even look at him.

“What the-”

“That’s perfect, Gavroche,” Jehan says approvingly. “Oh, Zelma, can you help Matéo with his, I’ve got my hands full at the moment.”

Montparnasse stares, incredulously, at the same spectacle that has Éponine spellbound. Jehan has gathered all four of her siblings round Montparnasse’s table and is doing something that looks like folding paper flowers. More amazingly, Azelma, Gavroche, Matéo and Judoc are all sitting down in attentive concentration, listening to their instructions.

“How…?” Montparnasse breathes.

“I don’t know,” Éponine hisses. “They were complaining you were taking too long and suddenly Jehan empties their bag on the table and…this happened.”

“Oh, Parnasse!” Jehan says cheerfully, looking up. “You’re back. Was Babet okay?”

“Fine,” he replies. “Just asleep.”

“Good,” Jehan says. “You want to make a rose? Azelma’s almost finished hers.”

“I want a black one next,” the seventeen year old announces, putting the last touches on her blue rose.

“I’m good, thanks,” Montparnasse says, still mildly stunned. Éponine’s siblings, in ages seventeen to ten, are generally to be controlled with a blend of manipulation, hyperbolic threats and outright bribery. Matéo and Judoc are usually capable of being directed as a pair, but Azelma and Gavroche sure as hell aren’t. But here they are, folding flowers.

“I want mine to be spiky like yours, Gav,” Judoc says.

“Sure,” Gavroche says and he scoots closer to his little brother. “We’ll do one together, Juju.”

“Thank you, Gavroche,” Jehan says. “Shall I help you then, Téo? What colour do  _you_  want next?” they ask, while handing Azelma a piece of black paper.

“What colour do you like?” Matéo asks.

“All colours,” Jehan says decidedly.

“That’s not an answer,” the twelve year old protests.

“Fair enough…yellow.”

“Then I’ll make a yellow one,” he decides.

Éponine give Montparnasse a thoroughly weirded out stare. “They’re witchcraft,” she whispers accusingly. “Actual witchcraft.”

Montparnasse doesn’t even know what to answer. She’s probably right.

“Hey, Ponine , do you want this one?” Gavroche asks, holding up a spiky white flower. “I want a purple one.”

“Yeah,” Éponine says, surprised. “Thanks, Gav.” She walks up to the table and takes the flower. “That’s really cool, looks complicated.”

“Not really,” Gavroche says smugly.

“I can do it too!” Judoc says happily. His partially finished flower isn’t nearly as neat as Gavroche’s, but it is spiky.

“You’re all learning way faster than I did,” Jehan says admiringly. “When we’re done we have to send pictures to Feuilly.” They look up at Montparnasse.

He is still staring, frown unwavering on his face, at the sight of his dining table being turned into a crafting station. There’s going to be paper everywhere. And where did Jehan get four pairs of scissors? Did they bring them?

“Parnasse?” Jehan breaks through his thoughts. “Sure you don’t want to make something?”

“Pretty sure,” Montparnasse says.

“Lend me your fingers for a second then,” Jehan says, trying to hold down five folded corners at the same time.

Montparnasse narrows his eyes at them. He knows damn well that as soon as he sits down at that table he’ll be making paper flowers within two minutes. And he’s not going to-

“I’m making this one for you,” Jehan smiles sweetly, holding up what is nearly a red rose.

With a look of disgruntled resignation Montparnasse walks around the table and sits down beside Jehan.

They barely manage to smile away their smugness. “They’re going to be lovely, right guys?” they say.

“Yes!” Azelma, Gavroche, Matéo and Judoc agree, nearly in unison.

Éponine stares at Jehan like she has never seen them before.

Montparnasse holds down the corners of Jehan’s flower and leans his chin on their shoulder. “How?” he mutters in their ear.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jehan smiles brilliantly.


	3. Message Missent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a prompt by Adrian/Montparnassee.
> 
> Contains nsfw-ish content!

It’s almost twelve at night and Montparnasse is lying sprawled out on his bed. You’d think after literal years his stupid internal clock would catch up to the fact that his life no longer takes place at night. Yeah, no such luck tonight. Lazily he picks up his phone and makes a stupid snap bemoaning the fact that humans are meant to be awake during the day. He adds it to his story and let his phone drop beside him onto the mattress.

The screen lights up with a notification:  **Snapchat**  Jehanemone

Montparnasse grins and swipes it open.

 **Jehanemone** : You have to be pretty even in your joke pics

 **Thanatos** : I can’t help my face

 **Jehanemone** : No fair

 **Thanatos** : Sorry x

 **Jehanemone** : You’re not allowed to be so gorgeous when you’re not here *pout*

Montparnasse raises an eyebrow at the screen.

 **Jehanemone** : I’d be really nice if you were here…

Montparnasse rolls onto his stomach and smirks at his phone. Apparently Jehan is in the mood for a bedtime story. Now he just has to guess whether Jehan wants him to tell it or wants to take the lead themself.

 **Thanatos** : It’s always nice to be with you finchling

 **Jehanemone** : Or maybe I’d rather be there… Cause your bed has proper bedposts

 **Thanatos** : It does

 **Jehanemone** : I like your bed

Montparnasse grins. Jehan is being coy. That means he has to take the lead. If they wanted to spin the story, they would have started already.

 **Thanatos** : I know you do. You like to hold on to it too

 **Jehanemone** : Do I?

 **Thanatos** : If you were here I’d make you hold on to it

 **Jehanemone** : Where?

Montparnasse sits up to make a picture. They hardly ever take proper pictures of themselves during this kind of stuff but they do send snaps of the things around them. Before he can select to take a picture, another snap pops up.

 **BabetPoquelin** : Fuck off I don’t need your face to haunt my sleep

Montparnasse snorts and sends back a quick: “Not even my memory will haunt your dumpster of a room”. Then he carefully wraps his hand around the left bedpost and takes a picture. He types the caption with a grin playing in one corner of his mouth.

 **Thanatos** : Right here. I’d make you curl your pretty fingers around it just like that

He hits send and glances around the room. The lighting is decent but not quite-

 **BabetPoquelin** took a screenshot!

Montparnasse freezes. What the hell? He opens the chat and lets out a horrified groan. For fuck’s sake-

 **BabetPoquelin** : Dude that is going in the groupchat rn

Montparnasse knows there is absolutely nothing he can say that will stop Babet. Why the fuck did it have to be Babet? Gueulemer would have probably pretended nothing happened. Claquesous would have snarked and acted disgusted.

 **BabetPoquelin** : You know what I am going to print this and frame it

 **BabetPoquelin** : Christ you’re a cliché

 **BabetPoquelin** : Poor Jehan

 **Thanatos** : Fuck you

 **BabetPoquelin** : Not until your writing gets better

Montparnasse clenches his teeth and tosses his phone to the side of the bed. Babet is insufferable.

His phone buzzes. That’ll be the group chat. Or maybe not, Claquesous and Gueulemer are probably asleep already. Babet would want an instant reaction. He glances at the screen. It’s a text from Jehan.

 **Jehan** : omg did you send that to babet by mistake??

Instead of answering them Montparnasse opens snapchat again.

 **Thanatos** : The hell

 **BabetPoquelin** : Mail should always be delivered to the intended recipient ❤

 **Thanatos** : fu

 **BabetPoqueling** : xxx

Montparnasse scowls at his phone in disgust. He should have just gone to sleep.

 **BabetPoquelin** : Fucking hell call off your datemate

 **Thanatos** : What

 **BabetPoquelin** : Tell them to stop

 **BabetPoquelin** : I don’t want to know any of this

Montparnasse allows a bemused grin on his face and switches to Jehan’s text again.

 **Montparnasse** : What did you say to Babet?

 **Jehan** : Nothing

 **Jehan** : Just defending your writing skills a little ^_^

Montparnasse thinks of Babet’s horrified face and snorts with laughter. Well, it’s about time he learned Jehan wasn’t as innocent as they looked. He’d gladly take the credit for corrupting them, but the truth was way more fun. That photo was probably still going to haunt him, but at least now he’d have the pleasure of seeing Babet freak out the next time Jehan came to visit. That was something to look forward to for sure.

 


	4. Ghosts of Outfits Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Jehanparnasse week 2017.

“Alright, you can stop now,” Jehan pouts, crossing their arms sulkily.

Montparnasse is laughing too hard to even listen to them. “I thought I was prepared for pretty much  _anything_ , finchling,” he gulps. “But a  _sailor’s_   _outfit_?”

Jehan pulls the photo album off his lap with a defensive snort. “It was during my ballad phase,” they huff. “I wanted to look like Polly Oliver.”

“Who?” Montparnasse asks, eyes still twinkling with glee.

“Polly Oliver,” Jehan repeats. “She dresses like a boy to follow her lover to-” They pull a face. “You’re not listening are you?”

“I’m sorry,” Montparnasse chokes. “You had pigtails under a hat with  _ribbons_.”

“I’m never showing you pictures again,” Jehan grumbles. That’s not a threat they’ll be able to follow through on. It had been way too much fun to see Montparnasse’s face flood with fondness every time they got a new glimpse of their past. Still, his teasing is making them reconsider if it was worth it.

“ _Please_ let me take a picture of it,” Montparnasse begs, the corners of his mouth still trembling.

“ _No_ ,” Jehan refuses sulkily. They glance at him suspiciously. “And why would you need a picture?”

“I don’t know,” he grins. “Maybe I want to make you an adult sized replica?” He laughingly swats away Jehan’s hand as they try to hit him.

This is entirely unfair. “Don’t try to tell me you didn’t have embarrassing clothing phases when you were a kid!” Jehan insists. There is no way someone as dressy and dramatic as Montparnasse didn’t make a couple of wrong turns before arriving at his current style.

Montparnasse smirks. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he teases. “But that’s the upside of not having doting parents. No pictures.”

There’s a twitch of sorrow in the back of Jehan’s mind, but they know Montparnasse doesn’t want their pity and they don’t want to go there now. So instead of saying anything they give him their best resentful frown.

Montparnasse laughs and wraps his arms loosely around them, trying to nuzzle against their cheek. “I’m sorry,” he chuckles. “But you in a  _uniform_ …”

That train of thought could have led in a wide variety of directions, but Jehan’s mind is still on the subject of retalliation. Suddenly they let out a gasp of delight and their frown turns to an instant grin. They know who to ask for help.

“What are you doing?” Montparnasse asks suspiciously when they pull out their phone.

“Nothing,”  Jehan hums innocently, carefully twisting a little in Montparnasse’s embrace so he can’t see their screen. “Just asking Feuilly for pictures of you.”

“You-!” Montparnasse makes a grab for their phone, but the message is already sent.

“Too late!” Jehan chimes, quickly holding their phone behind their back.

“Won’t do you any good,” Montparnasse says, holding them more or less pinned against the couch and still trying to get at their phone. “Feuilly doesn’t have pictures of me.”

“Are you sure about that?” Jehan grins. “Because it doesn’t look like you’re sure.” In fact. Montparnasse looks endearingly nervous. With good reason too, because if Jehan knows Feuilly there is no way he hasn’t got some pictures stashed away. And Jehan knows Feuilly rather well.

Their phone buzzes.

Montparnasse makes another attempt to grab it, but Jehan is almost as good at hiding things as Montparnasse is at stealing them. And almost is good enough right now, because they’re lying under Montparnasse on a couch and he doesn’t have his full range of movement.

“I thought you had nothing to hide?” Jehan laughs as their phone buzzes again.

Montparnasse huffs and sits up, letting go of them and leaning back with badly acted indifference. “I’m not afraid of Feuilly.”

Jehan snorts at that. Afraid of Feuilly. Gleefully they grab their phone and open the chat. The first message is just Feuilly responding with “yeah sure, hang on,” but the second is a photo of a couple of photographs laid out on Feuilly’s table.

Jehan squeals with delight and enlarges it, glancing merrily at Montparnasse who tries to look uninterested.

There is a picture of Montparnasse and Feuilly together and Jehan makes a mental note to ask for a copy because even though it looks like it’s from only a few years ago it’s just a lovely picture. The  _other_ two however…

“Look at you!” Jehan cheers, nearly kicking their feet with glee. “You look like Sous!”

“I do  _not_ ,” Montparnasse contradicts.

Jehan squeals again. The fifteen or sixteen year old Montparnasse in the pictures is glaring and his hair is long and brushed mostly in front of his face. He’s wearing a lot of make-up and none of it as elegant as it is nowadays. “Look at you being a baby goth!” they cry.

“Bloody Feuilly,” Montparnasse grunts and he cringes at the pictures.

“Hey,” Jehan grins, giving him a nudge. “Fifteen year old me had a huge vampire phase, I would have totally fallen for you.”

“Well you shouldn’t have,” Montparnasse grimaces, glancing at the purple streaks in his hair.

“Don’t you dare question my judgement,” Jehan teases, putting the phone aside and tapping Montparnasse playfully on his chest. “I have  _excellent_  taste.”

Montparnasse’s mouth twitches and Jehan narrows their eyes at him.

“If you start up about my clothes again I won’t kiss you,” they threaten and Montparnasse wisely decides to swallow whatever teasing comment he had lined up.


	5. Guilty of Affection

Jehan happily unlocks the door of Maison Minette (Montparnasse still tells them not to call it that, but Babet is delighted to have found an ally). They trot up the stairs to the third floor apartment. They have a key for that door as well. It’s still new though and Jehan still feels that little burst of happiness as they use it.

Jehan goes inside as quietly as possible. It’s three pm on a Sunday, but they’re pretty sure Montparnasse went out with his friends last night so… They glance through the apartment, but it’s silent and empty. Yup, Parnasse must still be in bed. They tiptoe to the bedroom and gently open the door. It takes most of their self-control not to squeal.

Montparnasse is indeed lying in bed and Montague is curled up on his legs. When Jehan enters he opens one green eye and makes a soft sound of acknowledgement. 

“Hello…” Jehan whispers delightedly. “Did you finally convince Parnasse to let you sleep in the bed?”

“Prrr,” Montague purrs smugly.

Jehan reaches out to scratch him lovingly under his chin and the cat rests his head on their hand in approval. Jehan sits down on the side of the bed and as their weight dents the mattress Montparnasse wakes up. He must have been really tired, normally he’s a light sleeper.

“Mmm…finchling,” he mutters. “Done at the museum already?”

“It’s Sunday,” Jehan says with a smile.

“Hm?” Montparnasse grunts. “Oh, right.” He yawns, stretching his arms and shoulders, but Jehan can’t help but notice how careful he is not to move his legs.

“You  _love_  him,” Jehan says, voice dripping with glee.

“No I don’t,” Montparnasse says. “He’s a nuisance.” He catches Jehan’s hand and pulls them further onto the bed. “I love you though…”

Normally those words coming out of Montparnasse’s mouth are more than enough to distract them from pretty much anything, but not today. “He’s on your  _bed_ ,” they point out. “And you were  _sleeping_.”

Montparnasse glances at Montague. The cat glances back. “We have reached an understanding,” he says.

“Have you now?” Jehan laughs.

“Yes,” Montparnasse says. “Right now our understanding is that you should join us.”

“You said  _us_!” Jehan squeals. “About you and  _Monty!”_

Instead of dignifying that with a response Montparnasse grabs Jehan round their waist, making Montague leap elegantly off his legs, and hoists them into the bed beside him. Laughingly Jehan kicks off their shoes.

Montague waits with dignified patience until the wriggling and giggling are over. When both his humans are lying side by side under the duvet he carefully choses a spot in between them.

“Look at us,” Jehan says, brimming with happiness.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Montparnasse hums, drawing his arm a little closer around Jehan.

“Parnasse  _loves_  you,” Jehan coos, combing through Montague’s thick fur. “And so do I!” They snuggle closer against their boyfriend and hug their cat. “And you love  _him_. And so do I!”

Two sets of green eyes give them a look of equal love and stubborn denial.

Jehan beams at them both. They couldn’t be happier.


	6. Double Coffees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written after a prompt from Débora: I have a theory that Enjolras and Montparnasse bond over their extremely sugary and fancy coffee orders.
> 
> I agree <3

“You didn’t say mister Loud and Blonde was coming too,” Montparnasse complains.

“Shush,” Jehan smiles. “You like this coffee shop.”

“I’d like it better without people being loud and blonde at me,” he grumbles, holding the door open for Jehan.

“Oh they’re here already!” Jehan chirps happily and they wave towards the table where Grantaire and Enjolras are sitting. Well, Enjolras is sitting at the table. Grantaire is sitting on the floor on his knees, trying to coax a tabby cat out from underneath a bench.

“Can you order for me?” Jehan asks, eyes immediately focussed on the cat. “I’d like a mint tea.”

“That isn’t really tea, Jehan,” Montparnasse grimaces.

Jehan makes a kissy mouth at him and skips off, giving Enjolras a hasty hug from behind before dropping to their knees besides Grantaire.

Montparnasse walks up to the bar and nods at the barista. He does like this place, the guy knows his way around a coffee machine. “A fresh mint tea and a caffé mocha, please,” he says.

“Usual obscene amount of whipped cream?” the barista grins.

He hums approvingly.

“Here you go,” he says, sliding a tall glass with a sprig of mint soaking in boiling water towards Montparnasse. “I’ll bring yours over in a minute.”

“Thanks,” Montparnasse nods and he joins the others, which means sitting down opposite Enjolras, while Grantaire and Jehan make purring sounds at the cat.

“Hi,” Enjolras says stiffly.

“Hi,” Montparnasse returns in kind as he places the cup of tea next to a cup of nondescript black liquid that he supposes is what Grantaire considers coffee.

Jehan makes a content squealing sound from behind a chair and Grantaire gets to his feet with the cat in his arms. He sits down and Jehan follows, scooting their chair closer to Montparnasse’s and pulling the tea glass towards them. “Thank you, love,” they hum.

Montparnasse leans his head towards theirs for a moment and looks at Grantaire. The cat is now sprawled out across his lap, letting him pet her tummy. “You’re creepy, you know that,” he says. He’s seen people try to cuddle the shy tabby before and it never works.

“You’re one to talk,” Enjolras says. “And R is just good with cats.”

“Awesomely good with cats,” Jehan grins, stretching out their hand to scratch the cat under her chin. She purrs in approval.

“So, what’s new with you guys,” Grantaire says, taking big gulp of black coffee.

“How can you drink that as is,” Enjolras horrors and Montparnasse has to admit that’s basically what went through his mind.

“We can’t all be cleansed souls like Jehan,” Grantaire says, unconcerned.

Jehan sips their tea and bats their eyes wholesomely.

“What’s up is several things I won’t talk about,” Montparnasse says, sitting back. “Because I don’t feel like listening to a lecture about my ‘lifestyle’.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes.

“He promised not to do that though,” Grantaire grins. “Can’t guarantee he’ll make it, of course,” he says with a wink.

Jehan gives Montparnasse an expressive smile. So he’s not the only one that has to be bribed and instructed into these hangouts. The idea of Enjolras having to agree to behave is kind of funny though.

“Here you are,” the barista announces his presence, walking up to the table with two cups. “Two caffé mochas with extra chocolate syrup and whipped cream.”

He puts the cups down and Jehan thanks him. Montparnasse and Enjolras don’t, instead they are staring at each other with a very uncomfortable realization on their face.

“Well,” Montparnasse huffs. “At least you have better taste in coffee than your- Than Grantaire.”

“I resent that,” Grantaire says with a face completely free of resentment.

“He’s right for once,” Enjolras snarks. He gives a small shrug with his shoulders. “And…we’ve decided to actually go by boyfriends now.”

“Really?” Jehan beams. “That’s awesome! Aw, but I also really liked your ‘we’re together, fuck your labels’.”

“That still applies,” Enjolras says.

“Except now I can also tell literally everyone I meet that the blonde tornado of justice is my boyfriend,” Grantaire says triumphantly.

Jehan snorts.

“Stop nicknaming me after natural disasters,” Enjolras says, hiding a grin. “Drink your disgusting bitter insomnia juice.”

“I think it’s cute,” Jehan says, eyes twinkling. “What would you be, Parnasse. One of those forest fires that you don’t see coming?”

Montparnasse gives him a sideways glance. “Drink your boiled weed, Jehan.”

Jehan laughs and they and Grantaire wonder out loud whether Bahorel could be classified as a hurricane or a tsunami, while Montparnasse picks up his cup. He glances at Enjolras across the brim of it and smiles ever so slightly. Enjolras pulls a face in return and they both take a sip. At least  _this_  is getting your money’s worth.


	7. Cranky Costuming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Adrian.

Claquesous yelps indignantly as Montparnasse deliberately scratches him with a pin.

“You going to stop fucking fidgeting now?” he demands.

“You’re taking an  _age_ ,” Claquesous complains, angrily straightening his shoulders again.

“I’m doing you a favour fixing this mess, so shut up,” Montparnasse says. He’s re-pinning the back panels of a coat, the design of which offends him in the first place. “What’s this even-”

“You begin about historical accuracy again and I will stab you,” Claquesous growls. “It’s a  _costume_.”

“Yeah and you could have done a better job,” Montparnasse snarks.

There’s a soft, amused noise from the couch and Claquesous groans. “Jehan, can you not?”

“You guys are so cute when you’re bickering,” Jehan says teasingly from behind their phone, that has been filming the past few minutes.

Montparnasse rolls his eyes at the camera and Jehan grins.

“You’re only here because he wouldn’t come if you couldn’t,” Claquesous says ill-temperedly.

Montparnasse would have stuck him with a pin for that if there was even the slightest believability to his statement.

“Yeah,” Jehan says, twinkling their eyes at Claquesous. “That’s why. Not because you wanted my opinion or anything.”

Claquesous looks at the ceiling with a suffering sigh.

“You’d think I’m fitting him with a noose,” Montparnasse says, pulling a face at Jehan. “You’re going to look a lot better than you were going to, trust me.”

“Not likely,” he replies flatly, not specifying whether that is about trust or looking better. In any case, he knows it’s true. By now Montparnasse is a better tailor than Claquesous.

“You know what, Sous?” Jehan says, putting their phone aside and stretching out on the couch. “You should let Montparnasse make your outfits.”

There’s a short, uncomfortable silence. Montparnasse’s hands hover over his friend’s shoulders for a moment and Claquesous gives Jehan a blank look.

“You’re so busy with your shows lately,” Jehan says sensibly. “You don’t have time to do it yourself anymore.”

“Clearly,” Montparnasse sniffs, resuming his work.

Claquesous makes an indistinct noise and looks away.

“There,” Montparnasse says, placing the last pin. He steps aside and waves Claquesous towards the mirror.

Silently Claquesous walks to his room instead, where he has several.

“Prissy fuck,” Montparnasse grunts with a smirk and he lets himself fall onto the couch next to Jehan.

They slide over to lean against him and put their head against his shoulder. “You’d be good at it,” they murmur. “Making his costumes.”

“Hm,” Montparnasse hums, he knows he would. It’s not like hasn’t considered it before either. But that doesn’t mean Claquesous would want him to.

Claquesous comes back with a vague smile on his face. “Yeah,” he says. “This is better.”

“No shit,” Montparnasse grins. “Would be even better if you let me fix that damn collar.”

“No,” Claquesous bites. “I like it this way.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I’m gonna start filming again,” Jehan warns.

Claquesous grimaces at them.

“Need a hand?” Jehan asks cheerfully and they hop off the couch.

Montparnasse makes a disgruntled noise and tries to catch them as they bounce to their feet, but only manages to grab their hand. He lets their fingers slip through his and watches as Jehan helps Claquesous out of the coat full of pins.

“It’s going to be so pretty,” they say admiringly. “You better invite us backstage again.”

Claquesous almost smiles. “I’ll consider it.” He takes the coat from Jehan and looks at it for a moment. Then he looks back at Montparnasse. “There’s nothing wrong with the collar,” he says provokingly.

“There’s something wrong with you,” Montparnasse retorts.

“And you could do a better job?” Claquesous demands.

Montparnasse sniffs. “Fixing that? No. Making you something? Fuck yes I’d do a better job.”

“Prove it,” Claquesous challenges. “For my next show.”

“Fine,” Montparnasse smirks. “But you don’t get a say in what I make.”

“I’m the one  _wearing_  it.”

“I know what looks good on you,” Montparnasse says. “It’s a fairly short list.”

Claquesous scowls and then scoffs. “Fine, if I don’t like it, I’ll make sure I catch on fire or something.”

“Great,” Montparnasse grins. “I can’t lose.”

Claquesous takes his coat away and Jehan sits down on Montparnasse’s lap with a smile.

“You look smug, finchling,” Montparnasse hums, wrapping his arms around their waist.

“Me? Not at all,” they smile, almost innocent but not quite.

Montparnasse snorts and pulls them a little closer. “You’re manipulative, you know that?”

“Only because you guys are dysfunctional,” Jehan says affectionately and they press a kiss on Montparnasse’s cheek.


	8. Sundown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a prologue I decided to delete from a work in progress. I still think it's cute though, so here it is.

The sun is on its way down, dragging colourful lines across the sky. It gives the living room a warm look, despite all the monochrome furniture. Montparnasse reaches out to stroke the cat that is nearly invisible on the black couch.

“Get your sleep while you can,” he says ominously.

Montague opens one green eye and closes it again with proud indifference.

“Hm?” a voice hums from the floor.

Montparnasse glances down and smiles. Jehan is sprawled out on the floor with a book, on top of a quilted blanket that is far too colourful to belong in this appartment.

“Nothing,” he grins.

Jehan raises an eyebrow, but smiles. They shuffle about on the blanket a bit in a particularly meaningful way.

Montparnasse makes a tutting sound and drops one leg down over the side of the couch, resting his foot gently on Jehan’s back. They hum appreciatively and look down at their book again.

“You sound like a happy pet, finchling,” Montparnasse teases, rubbing their lower back with his foot.

“I  _am_  a happy pet,” Jehan declares contently. “Give Montague a stroke from me?”

Almost without thinking Montparnasse reaches out again and pets the cat. He gives out a single purr.

“We’re all happy pets,” Jehan says approvingly, tracing the lines of an illustration in their book with their finger. They look up again, eyes full of warmth. “I love you.”

“Mm,” Montparnasse mutters, smiling at them.

Jehan smilingly turns back to their book.

“Love you too,” Montparnasse adds once their eyes are safely fixed on the page again.

They smile into their book, arching their back against his foot.

Montparnasse grins, looking at the contrast of his black sock against Jehan’s pink panther print sweater. How on earth did he get here? What did he do to get this without taking it by force?

He takes the drawing pad he let slide to the side of the couch back up again. Sketching is always better with Jehan reading or writing beside him, or in this case below him. Montparnasse squints at the figure he drew and starts to adjust the lapels on the coat. In the apartment below a door must have opened, because he suddenly hears Claquesous’ music blasting up through the floor. Jehan raises their head for a moment to listen and Montparnasse grins a little wider. He’s been this happy before, but he’s never felt so ridiculously secure.


	9. In The Sun

It is early in the morning when Montparnasse finally comes home. He has already learned to open and close the door to their new apartment soundlessly. Not that he usually needs to, nights like these are an exception nowadays. He sighs. At least Brujon had the sense to call Sous before going after Faunt. Montparnasse rubs his eyes. Well, no harm done. He’ll make Faunt pay for the loss of a night’s sleep later. With a sigh he takes off his shoes and walks softly into the living room.

“Good morning.”

Montparnasse turns around. Jehan is lying sprawled out on the rug in their pyjamas, basking in the morning sun streaming through the window.

“You’re awake,” Montparnasse mutters.

“Prrr,” a soft sound comes from behind Jehan and Montague’s snout peeks out from behind their hip.

“You both are,” Montparnasse yawns.

“I woke up and the sun was shining,” Jehan says happily. They raise their head up a little. “Was everything okay?”

“Of course,” Montparnasse sighs, strolling towards them. “Faunt got themself in some shit that’s all.”

“Okay,” Jehan says calmly. Sometimes they ask questions and sometimes they don’t. This is apparently one of the latter times.

Montparnasse looks at them and at the cat curled up next to them. Involuntarily he smiles. Back when nights like these were still common he definitely didn’t have a Jehan and a cat to come home to. Never thought he’d have anything like this either. Jehan is blinking their hazel eyes at him sleepily.

“You didn’t get up because of me, did you?” Montparnasse asks, stretching his neck and shoulders and wincing against the stiffness.

“No,” Jehan assures him. “R is coming by later.”

“In the morning?” Montparnasse says incredulously. An intense hatred for the before-noon is something he and Grantaire share.

“I was awake anyway,” Jehan says dismissively. “And sun.”

Montparnasse smirks. They do look very happy for someone lying long out on the floor.

Jehan pats beside them on the rug. “Come lie beside me.”

“I’m not lying on the floor, Jehan,” Montparnasse protests.

“It’s on the rug,” Jehan points out. “Come on…”

Montparnasse has to repress a smile, but he shakes his head. His clothes have been through enough tonight.

Jehan makes a whiny noise and twists around on the rug. They fix Montparnasse with a big eyed stare and pout.

“Don’t do that, that’s cheating,” Montparnasse says reproachfully. “I’m  _tired_ , finchling.”

“So come lie down with me!” Jehan coaxes. “Just for a minute. The bedroom is  _really_  far away…and there’s no sun there.”

Montparnasse grimaces at them. The fact that the morning sun doesn’t shine into their bedroom is one of the few things he likes about this place that Jehan resents. “I’m not going to-”

“One minute?” Jehan pleads. They pat the rug invitingly and give a little shimmy with their shoulders.

“Why do I even bother?” Montparnasse sighs, repressing a smile, and he shrugs off his jacket.

Jehan hums happily as he lies down next to them.

We could just put the couch here instead of against the wall,“ he mutters, moving sideways until his shoulder touches Jehan’s.

“I like this rug,” Jehan says happily.

Montparnasse makes a vague noise and squints when the sun shines in his eyes. Next to him Jehan lets out a blissful sigh. They reach out and gently stroke Montparnasse’s hair out of his face. He closes his eyes with a sigh.

On Jehan’s other side Montague makes an indignant noise.

“Yes, you get scratches too,” Jehan says amusedly and judging from the purring that follows Montparnasse concludes that they are now stroking the cat with their other hand.

“What time’s Grantaire coming?” Montparnasse slurs, he really doesn’t want to open his eyes. He doesn’t want to move at all and he definitely doesn’t want Jehan to stop their petting.

“Not for a while,” Jehan says. “And you know you are allowed to call him R, right?”

Montparnasse grunts indistinctly. If he starts using the myriad of nicknames Jehan’s friends have flying around he’ll never be done with it. They are far too chummy with him as it is. He wants to answer something  flippant and vaguely insulting, but Jehan is lazily scratching his scalp now and Montparnasse finally gives up being awake.

He wakes up to the sound of the front door slamming. What the hell is-

“Hello?”

Montparnasse groans. People that are not Jehan.

“In here,” Jehan calls out merrily without getting up. “You’re early!”

“Yeah,” Grantaire hums, emerging from the hallway. “I was-” He stops and grins at the sight before him. “Are you two competing for who does the best cat impression?”

Montparnasse glares at him, but he’s been scowling since he opened his eyes so the effect is very limited.

“Come join us,” Jehan says invitingly. “There’s sun.”

“You sure know how to sell it,” Grantaire grins. He kicks off his shoes and looks at the space left on the rug. On one side of Jehan there’s Montparnasse, on the other there’s Montague. Grantaire slants his head.

“Don’t you dare,” Montparnasse threatens.

“Sorry,” Grantaire smirks, lowering himself onto the rug beside him. “I respect Montague more than you.”

Montparnasse gives him a nettled grunt, but that is all he has the energy for. Besides, Jehan’s fingers are still tangled into his hair.

Grantaire is now spread out comfortably next to him, hands tucked behind his head. “This is pretty good,” he says approvingly.

“Then shut up,” Montparnasse mutters, closing his eyes again.

“Your big cat is really grumpy, Jehan,” Grantaire observes.

“Your scruffy stray is really  _talkative_ , Jehan,” Montparnasse snarks.

“Be nice, both of you,” Jehan chides laughingly. “You two look super cute lying there.”

“Grantaire,” Montparnasse says darkly. “If I as much as feel you reach for your phone, I’ll kick your ass.”

“Tempting,” Grantaire yawns. “Can I get back to you on that?”

Jehan lets out a soft giggle, but then a snoozy silence settles over the three of them. Montparnasse halfway drifts back to sleep again and you know what, he’s too tired to care about Grantaire being there.

A few minutes later all three of them are asleep and the only eyes observing the sun’s progress through the room belong to a very smug, very comfortable Montague.


	10. Bricks and beams, hopes and dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Jehanparnasseweek 2017.

Jehan squeezes Montparnasse’s hand as they walk up the stairs. “Eighth time lucky?” they say.

Their boyfriend smiles faintly, but makes no reply. Maybe he’s nervous. Jehan is nervous. Or frustrated, or both. They let out an involuntary sigh. The two of them have been looking for a place of their own for so long now. At least to Jehan it seems like an absolute age. They want to get out of student housing so badly. And nice as Maison Minette is, it was never the plan for Jehan to move in with Montparnasse. They want to move in  _together_. In a new place. A place all their own. Except there’s nothing that’s suitable for two people. Nothing they can afford at least. Montparnasse works almost fulltime, but Jehan’s Saturday’s at the museum don’t earn them much and some places flat-out refuse to rent to students.

“Ready, finchling?” Montparnasse asks.

Jehan looks up, startled. They’re already at the door. “Yes,” they say, trying to express all the excitement and optimism they wish Montparnasse would show.

Montparnasse rings the bell and they both wait.

A rather stressed looking man opens the door. “Prouvaire and Montparnasse?”

“That’s us,” Jehan says brightly.

“Right, come on in,” he nods, stepping aside. “Other potential takers didn’t show up it seems.”

Jehan gives Montparnasse an expectant look as they step inside, but Montparnasse hardly makes eye contact. He’s looking at the walls of the hallway. They’re in terrible condition.

A phone goes off and the man – who might be the building’s super Jehan supposes – grunts an apology and steps outside, answering it with a curt: “Hello?”

When he lets the front door of the apartment slam behind him, Jehan turns to Montparnasse, putting a hand on his arm, and says:

“What’s wrong?”

Montparnasse gets a caught look on his face. “Nothing’s wrong,” he says, but as soon as he sees Jehan’s face fall further he makes a sighing noise at the back of his throat and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m-” He cuts himself off, searching for words.

Jehan waits and they’re really glad they no longer have the hiss of anxiety in the back of their mind that tells them Montparnasse might be getting tired of them. That particular fear lost its voice long ago and with good reason. They  _know_  Montparnasse loves them and they have seen him immensely excited about finding a place together. They’re just not seeing it now and they need to know why.

.

Montparnasse knows he’ll have to start talking soon or Jehan is going to fret, but he doesn’t know what to say. None of his thoughts make sense at the moment. He’s fine with moving out, Jehan  _definitely_  needs to get out of that cramped student home and he loves the idea of living with them. It’s just-

“I hate…” he starts slowly. “That we have to…compromise.”

Jehan looks at him with a slight frown. Out in the hallway Montparnasse can hear an exasperated phone conversation going on, at least it seems like they’ll have a moment to themselves. “Compromise on what?” Jehan asks cautiously.

“Everything,” Montparnasse says, feeling a snap of frustration. “It’s always fucking something. They complain about my background and then they complain about you being a student. If the rent’s reasonable they want a deposit five times the amount anyone could possibly pay…” He swallows the snarl that almost escaped his throat and takes a deep breath. “This is your first real apartment, Jehan,” he says, glancing down at them so he can look into their eyes. “I don’t want to settle for something you don’t really like.”

The worry on Jehan’s face has faded, they’re smiling again and their eyes are full of that soft brand of optimism Montparnasse never really learned to understood, but really has grown to rely on. “Neither of us is settling,” they say, grabbing his hand to squeeze it. “We probably won’t find something that’s perfect, but we’ll find something we can  _make_  perfect. That’s all we need.”

Montparnasse rubs his thumb across their fingers. Jehan deserves something that’s perfect to begin with.

“Who knows,” Jehan smiles brightly. “Maybe it’s this place.”

He glances at shoddy plasterwork on the walls. “Not likely,” he grimaces.

“That’s just cosmetics,” Jehan chides him gently. They push themself up on their toes and press a quick kiss on his lips. “Don’t be shallow.”

Montparnasse lets out a breathy laugh, but his looks softens. “Alright,” he says. “Lead the way then.”

Jehan pushes open the door to what they guess is the living room and step in. Montparnasse follows. It is indeed the living room and it’s…not terrible. It’s rather spacious and the windows let in a lot of light. Montparnasse does grimace a little when he glances at the walls and the corners of the floor.

“Nothing that a bit of cleaning and a coat of paint can’t fix,” Jehan hums, as if he spoke his thoughts aloud.

Montparnasse nods hesitantly. Contrary to what many people think, he isn’t lazy. He’s willing to put in effort, but only for that which is his own. Otherwise what’s the point? He take care of himself and his. This place isn’t his. Not yet at least… He glances at Jehan.

They are walking through the living room with their arms hanging freely down their sides and their palms and fingers spread. Montparnasse doesn’t quite understand it, but he does know what they are doing: they’re feeling the space.

He leaves them to it and opens another door. It’s the kitchen. Too small to fit a table in, but not bad. Montparnasse leans against the doorpost. It’s big enough for him to cook a proper meal in. Small enough to purposely get in front of Jehan’s feet while they’re baking. With enough room for Jehan to sit on the countertop while waiting for the kettle to boil…

There is movement behind him and Jehan comes to lean against his shoulder. “The living room feels good,” they declare. “Is this the kitchen?” Eagerly they squeeze past him and dart from one corner to the room to the other, hair flying and skirt swishing, looking every bit like the nymph Montparnasse thought they looked like when he first saw them.

“What do you think?” Jehan asks, turning around.

“I don’t hate it,” Montparnasse says cautiously.

.

Jehan has gotten pretty good at deciphering Montparnasse’s minute changes in tone of voice and expression, but they make an effort to look into his eyes to be sure. Montparnasse looks a little troubled, but not in the same way he did before. Jehan smiles. “Come on,” they say. “Let’s go find the bedroom.”

Montparnasse snorts and lets himself be pulled out of the kitchen and through the apartment in search of the right door.

Jehan doesn’t want to say it yet, but they genuinely have a very good feeling about this place. They throw open a door. “Hm,” they hum thoughtfully, letting go of Montparnasse’s hand. This room is a lot darker than the living room and kitchen. There’s only a small window and, for some strange reason, a glass door leading outside. “Not exactly a proper balcony,” they say, trying to open the door and finding it locked. There would be just enough room to stand outside, maybe put down one big flower pot…

Montparnasse is still standing in the door opening and Jehan look as him with their back to the window. His expression is thoughtful.

“It’s a little dark…” Jehan say, a little hesitant.

“Hm,” Montparnasse hums, looking at the slightly shabby ceiling. “Good excuse for more fairy lights then.”

Jehan beams. They can’t help it.

Montparnasse gives them a slightly defensive look. “What?” he asks.

Jehan tries to express everything they’re feeling in a single noise and when that doesn’t work they dart through the room to grab Montparnasse’s hand again. “You’ve never done that before,” they say, brimming with happiness. “Said something about decorating I mean.”

Montparnasse makes a vague noise and instead of answering he asks: “Do you like this place?”

“I haven’t made up my mind yet,” Jehan says. “But yeah, I do. And I’m not just saying that!”

Montparnasse smiles. “You never just say things, finchling.” He squeezes their hand before looking a little more serious again. “You said the living room feels good, what about this room?”

Jehan glances around and then closes their eyes for a moment. It feels  _good_. It needs work, but that’s not a bad thing. This is a blank canvas, albeit a shabby one. “This feels good too,” they say decidedly. They look at Montparnasse. “But what do you think?”

“I think you look excited,” Montparnasse smiles. He tugs on their arm. “We haven’t seen the bathroom yet.”

.

The sound Jehan makes when they open the bathroom door makes Montparnasse grin before he’s even seen it.

“It has a bath!” Jehan squeals.

Montparnasse snorts. “An ancient one,” he observes.

“Who cares!” Jehan says delightedly and they lean over to see how deep it is. “We’d fit in this together.”

“You sure know how to sell it,” Montparnasse smirks, leaning against the tiled wall.

Jehan flushes and for a moment Montparnasse marvels at the fact that he can still make them blush like that.

“You still haven’t told me what you really think of this place,” Jehan reminds him, a tad accusingly.

Montparnasse is well aware of this, but he needs to know if this place is right for Jehan first. The truth is that choosy as he is, particular as he is, he is used to making things work for him. He can make any place where he has Jehan into his home. It’s important that  _they_  like this place. “It’s more important to me what you think about it,” he says after a short silence.

Jehan gives him a soft look. “That’s not fair though,” they say. “I want this to be  _our_  choice, our place, our space.”

“It will be,” Montparnasse assures them.

“No, it needs to be from the start,” Jehan says seriously.

He can tell they’re adamant about this and he knows that even if Jehan really isn’t in the habit of forcing him to talk about things, they’re not going to let this go. Montparnasse nearly pulls a face. He won’t like this place before Jehan decides they want it and Jehan doesn’t want to decide before they know he likes it. “Alright,” he hums. “Alright.” He pushes away from the wall and walks back through the hallway, Jehan on his heels.

The thing is, he’d never think to look at a place like this if it wasn’t for Jehan. It’s not something that suits him specifically… Come to think of it, it isn’t something that suits Jehan particularly well either. But, he thinks walking back into the living room, it does suit the both of them. Maybe that’s what Jehan meant just now. This isn’t supposed to be ‘yours’ or ‘mine’, just ‘ours’ from the start.

There is a sound at the front door and the building supervisor appears. “Sorry about that,” he says, putting his phone away. “Have any questions?”

“Not yet,” Jehan says politely. “Maybe in a minute?”

The man nods and retreats to a corner. “Don’t take too long,” he requests.

Montparnasse and Jehan check the other doors in the hallway. There’s a closet, the meter cupboard and a small room without windows.

“Who would want a study without windows?” Jehan horrors.

Montparnasse shakes his head. The living room is by far the lightest. Jehan can set up their desk there, in the sunshine. He doesn’t say that though, what he says is: “You don’t want it? I guess I’ll have to take it as my dressing room then.”

Jehan scoffs, but when their gaze crosses his their eyes widen with delight. “You mean it?” they chirp.

Montparnasse makes a show of looking around the room. “Sure,” he says. “There’s room enough here for a couple of closets and mirrors.” He smiles at them. “You can have your desk at the living room window maybe?”

Jehan beams, but that’s clearly not what they’re interested in right now. “How’d you decorate it then?” they press.

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “I don’t know,” he hums. “Closets there and there and…how about two full length mirrors facing each other.

Jehan wrinkles their nose and Montparnasse laughs. He leans forwards to quickly kiss the lines of disagreement off their lips.

“Fine, fine,” he chuckles. “No opposing mirrors.”

“You’re mean,” Jehan chides, but they look way too happy to be scolding. “Would you paint the walls black?”

“Dark grey?” Montparnasse muses.

“How about green for the bedroom,” Jehan says, wrapping an arm around his waist.

Montparnasse contorts his face. “What kind of green?” he asks suspiciously.

This time it’s Jehan that laughs and the sound bounces off the empty walls, light and bright and full of promise. They turn around with a sudden burst of energy and call out:

“We have some questions now!”

As Jehan starts subjecting the tired building supervisor to the list of questions they have perfected during their last couple of viewings Montparnasse stands back and listens. He fixes his attention on the man with a sharpness that ensures the answers given will be truthful. Lying to Jehan would be despicable, lying to Montparnasse is…inadvisable. Especially when it comes to what is his. And this place is theirs now, which is better than just his. So it’s going to be made perfect and Montparnasse is going to make an effort.


	11. Disgustingly Domestic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Jehanparnasse week 2017.

When he moved into Maison Minette there had been no housewarming. Mainly because Montparnasse, Claquesous and Babet all moved in at the same time, but also because they weren’t going to bother with crap like that. Housewarmings are exactly the kind of crap Jehan  _loves_  to bother with though, so they’re having one. For their new apartment. Their new, shared apartment.

Montparnasse is standing in the doorway, looking into the crowded living room. It’s crowded with friends. Both their friends. He’s almost startled to admit it, but standing here and glancing around, there really doesn’t seem to be a distinction anymore. Over by the window Babet and Claquesous are talking to Musichetta with something that looks remarkably like shared passion. Claquesous just  _laughed_. And there’s more laughter from over by the couch where Gavroche is showing Courfeyrac something on his phone. Azelma is chatting happily to Cosette and Éponine seems to be choking with laughter over something Grantaire just told her. There is a burst of noise from the kitchen that Montparnasse knows comes from Bahorel and Gueulemer. He’s not sure how that happened either, but it appears they will be cooking for everyone. Together. Because that is apparently a thing now.

With feelings he’s not examining yet, but that are certainly some form of positive, Montparnasse leans against the doorpost and looks at Jehan. They’re talking to Fauntleroy and side by side the two of them look like a pair of brightly coloured birds, moving excitedly with every word. Montparnasse’s fond smile flickers for a moment when he sees Marius bloody Pontmercy of all people teaching Brujon some sign language. 

How the hell did all this happen? How did he get here? He has an apartment full of people. No,  _they_ have an apartment full of people. He and Jehan together. An apartment with a mismatch of furniture that looks good against all odds, because their styles  _shouldn’t_ match, but they do. An apartment with a cat (even if he has wisely hidden somewhere at the moment). An apartment with a bed that’s always slept in on both sides. An apartment that will not be empty after all these people have gone and that Montparnasse would not  _want_  to be empty.

Montparnasse runs a hand through his hair. He barely knows what to do with himself. He’s so damn  _happy_.

“Hey.”

Montparnasse looks round. 

Enjolras is standing a few paces away, holding a wrapped box. He takes a step towards Montparnasse and holds it out for him to take.

“You already gave us something,” Montparnasse reminds him. A plant – like they need more plants – Jehan had squealed over it, it was a pretty okay plant.

“I gave  _Jehan_ something,” Enjolras says. He’s not smiling, he just looks earnest. Montparnasse is by now convinced that Enjolras has somehow turned ‘earnest’ into a primary emotion.

He takes the present and gives Enjolras a nod. “Nice shirt.” Anything other than one of those endless hoodies is deserving of praise.

“Thanks,” Enjolras says.

Montparnasse unwraps the present and blinks. “Fuck that’s domestic,” he snorts. It’s a milk frother.

For a spit second a defensive look passes across Enjolras’ face, but then he makes a dismissive sound and says: “Give it back if you don’t want it,” with a slight grin around his mouth.

“No chance,” Montparnasse smirks. “You give me something you never get it back, you should know that by now, blondie.” 

Enjolras hums, almost smiling. “Maybe you’ll convert Jehan this way,” he says. “I’m still working on Grantaire.”

Montparnasse snorts and makes an exaggerated suffering sound. He glances at the box again and then back at Enjolras. “Thanks,” he says casually.

“Happy housewarming,” Enjolras nods.

Montparnasse nods back, looking across the room just in time to see Jehan beaming at him with a smile that would put the sun itself to shame.


	12. Good With Kids

Montparnasse generally gets along with Musichetta very well. He kind of has to since she has inexplicably managed to befriend Claquesous, but honestly, between the class, the sewing and the no-nonsense attitude there’s rather a lot for Montparnasse to approve of. Normally then, he’d have no problem with going over to her place. True, it’s also Joly and Bossuet’s place and their cheerfulness still gets on his nerves, but provided Grantaire is there too he can handle it. Today he cannot handle it. Nobody told him Musichetta’s birthday would include so many people. Seriously, who still mixes family and friends? Montparnasse retreated into a corner as soon as her sisters arrived. They brought their children. One of them brought a damn  _baby_.

“Who died?” Grantaire quips, appearing from the kitchen with a piece of pie on a plate that is clearly too small for it.

Montparnasse rolls his eyes at him and Grantaire grins. At the other end of the room a toddler lets out an indignant cry at whatever the world has decided to present them with and starts wailing.

Montparnasse grimaces. “Who the fuck brings their kids to a party like this,” he complains. Several of Musichetta’s colleagues are already more than tipsy and Bossuet and Bahorel nearly broke a lamp a moment ago when re-enacting some scene from a beloved movie.

Grantaire shrugs. “They seem happy enough,” he says.

The toddler screams louder and Montparnasse gives Grantaire a blank look.

He laughs, unconcerned, and starts stuffing his face with pie.

Montparnasse sighs. He doesn’t mind children. Children can be sweet-talked and distracted if they can’t be avoided. But before they learn to talk and start to be susceptible to stories there is just nothing you can do with them. He scowls slightly at one of Chetta’s sisters as she walks into view with her baby on her arm. She’s wearing a very nice dress that has been completely wrinkled at the front by chubby little hands and that looks suspiciously wet at one of the shoulders. Montparnasse shudders.

“Chetta?” she calls out, looking around. “Chetta can you take Mia for a sec?”

Musichetta is nowhere to be seen, however, and Mia is already wrapping her little arms around her mother’s neck in disagreement with the notion of being handed to someone else.

With a slight smirk Montparnasse turns away, until Jehan’s voice makes him turn back:

“I’ll take her!”

“Watch out,” Grantaire grins, swallowing another mouthful. “Here comes the deprived only child.”

Montparnasse hums indistinctly and watches how the mother carefully disentangles her baby’s arms from around her neck and hands the little girl to Jehan.

“Thank you,” she says. “I’ll only be a minute. You know how to hold her?”

Jehan takes Mia in their arms, supporting her body with one arm and her head with the hand of the other.

“Oh good, you do,” Musichetta’s sister smiles. “Don’t let her pull your hair!”

She flits away hastily and leaves Jehan standing there with the baby against their chest. Montparnasse stares. This is not something he was prepared to see. Jehan is making a slight swaying motion and seems to be muttering something. Mia lies still for a moment, little arms folded beneath her, but then she wriggles and throws her head back.

“Careful,” Jehan laughs, pulling her back in as if they expected the movement and they hitch her up a little higher. A chubby little hand pats against their cheek and Jehan nudges at it with their nose.

Mia makes a pleased sound and tries it again, earning another affectionate push against her little hand.

Montparnasse is standing very still. Beside him Grantaire is still eating, looking at the scene with a much calmer brand of appreciation than Montparnasse.

“Mia, Mia, Mia,” Jehan singsongs, cuddling the baby to their chest. “What’s that short for?”

Mia gurgles.

“That’s a pretty name, is that how your mother pronounces it too?”

Montparnasse begins to suspect he’s actually incapable of moving. There is a mess of feelings wrapping around him that he has no way to untangle. He watches Jehan laugh as Mia throws her chubby arms around their neck and tries to remember how to breathe normally. He has  _never_ -

“Jehan’s good with kids, hm?” Grantaire hums cheerfully.

Whatever Montparnasse meant to say, once it leaves his mouth it’s hardly more than a vague sound.

Grantaire gives him a puzzled glance. “What gotten into-” He looks at Montparnasse’s face and then at Jehan – who is at this moment finding out how right Mia’s mother was to warn them about her grabbing their hair – and back again. He grins. “Oh,” he laughs. “Oh, dude, that’s priceless.”

“Shut it,” Montparnasse grunts. He can feel his face heating up and there’s nothing he can do about it.

“Man,” Grantaire snorts. “You are so screwed.” And before Montparnasse can stop him he calls out merrily: “Hey Jehan! Jehan come here! Come show us your new friend.”

Jehan walks over, beaming like sunshine and still getting their hair thoroughly rifled through by chubby fingers and Montparnasse can do nothing but watch. An involuntary smile is fighting its way to his face. Grantaire’s right. He’s absolutely screwed.


	13. Winter

“ _Jehan_ …”

Montparnasse’s voice is somewhere between a groan and a plea. He’s freezing. The winter cold pounced during the night and although the frost of the morning has melted by now, the air is still cold enough to be sharp. And yet there is Jehan, badly dressed, with nearly exposed ankles and bare hands, climbing a leafless tree.

“They threw it up there for a reason, Jehan,” he tries again, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. “Swinging season is over.”

Jehan doesn’t answer him. They are clambering with the graceless efficiency of someone who grew indifferent to judging looks long ago and have nearly reached the stout branch that stretches out over the little patch of grass. Wound around it, having been thrown up and around several times, is swing fashioned out of rough rope and a narrow wooden plank.

“There,” Jehan pants, swinging one leg up over the branch and Montparnasse watches them shuffle along it to reach the bunched up ropes.

Involuntarily, he takes a step closer. They’re wobbling terribly as they move.

The shawl Jehan has wrapped haphazardly around their shoulders is restricting their movement and they stop for a moment to unwrap it. Montparnasse expects them to tie it on properly now, but suddenly they flash a smile in his direction.

“Catch!”

The large shawl flutters through the air, forcing Montparnasse to free his hands from his coat pockets and grab for it. He makes a startled noise of disagreement, his vision temporarily obscured by woolly autumn colours. He bundles the shawl up, raising his head to frown at Jehan, but he’s too late.

He’s only just in time to see the swing fall freely down the branch and Jehan tumbling after it, their hands, only just protected by their too-long sleeves, skidding down the newly untangled rope. They slide down, a flurry of long hair flying behind them, landing on the seat of the swing with a thump. For a single moment their feet brace on the ground and then they sail forward.

The swing flies through the still winter air, carrying Jehan with it and spreading their gasping breath around like warm mist. Ever inch of their exposed skin is red with being kissed by the cold, but they don’t seem to feel it at all.

Jehan laughs, and Montparnasse watches in silence, stepping just a little out of the way, and watching the love of his life play.


End file.
